Waiting For the Sun
by Jane Westin
Summary: Bruce takes an assignment in Westchester. Tony follows. Crossover with X-Men comicverse .
1. I've Been Here Before

On the eighth day after the world didn't end, Bruce comes into the lab and it's different. Tony senses it immediately. Something about the way Bruce moves: a little more purposefully. A little quicker.

"What's up?" Tony pushes his safety glasses up onto his head.

Shift of brown eyes to the left. "I have to go up to Westchester for the day," Bruce says. "Wanted to let you know."

Tony replaces the glasses on the bridge of his nose and picks up a torch. "What for?" he says, and he's trying to sound indifferent but it's hard. He knows, every second, that there's a chance Bruce will leave. He's got no ties anywhere, no family, no significant possessions. Tony knows this, knows Bruce owes him no debt, has given Bruce no real reason to stay. But still. He's started to think of Bruce as his, and especially now, after the thing with Pepper, the idea of his departure makes Tony feel unsettled and irritable.

"Just...a meeting." Bruce shrugs his duffel bag a little higher on his shoulder. "I'll be back tonight."

"Okay." Tony turns the torch on, holds it against solder and metal, pulls back when it gets hot enough. "Take a car."

Bruce chuckles. "I know you probably didn't notice the difference, but S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't hire me pro bono. I can handle getting a rental car."

"Yeah." Tony frowns at the component: messy job. He might have to rework this one. "But why do it if you don't have to?"

In his peripheral vision, Tony sees Bruce hold up a finger. "I should say," he corrects, "I can handle getting a rental car that isn't worth two hundred grand."

"They're not all two hundred grand," Tony says, not looking up from his wedge of metal and wire. "Some of them are five hundred grand."

"I'm afraid you put too much faith in my driving ability," Bruce says.

"I trust you with anything in this building," Tony says, a little too forcefully. "Fuck." He left the heat near the solder too long; it's flashed out the other side. Now he really will have to redo the piece.

"You okay?" Bruce starts forward. Stops.

"Fine," Tony says shortly. "'Bye."

"See you when I get back," Bruce says, and Tony doesn't look up until he hears the lab door open and close.

As soon as Bruce is gone, Tony picks up the component with one gloved hand and flings it across the room. It hits the wall with a clang, leaving a black mark.

"Fuck," he says again.

He's antsy for the rest of the morning, unable to work on one project for more than a few minutes at a time. Finally he gives up. "JARVIS," he says.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did Bruce take a car?"

"He did not, sir." JARVIS's voice is dryly amused. "The exterior security cameras caught him getting into a cab."

"Course." Tony exhales hard. Because he wants to know - really, really, really wants to know - what Bruce is doing in Westchester.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do we still have keystroke logging on all the computers in the building?"

A pause. "Yes, sir."

"Can we - "

"Sir, if I may interrupt." JARVIS sounds a little more forceful than he usually does.

"Looks like you're going to anyway," Tony says crossly.

"I would advise, sir, that you carefully consider how the tools available to you are used," JARVIS says. "In order to avoid any...regrettable...decisions."

Tony knows exactly what JARVIS means by that. Right. Called out by his own damn AI. How is that not a design flaw, exactly?

"Forget it," he mutters. He wouldn't have broken into Bruce's email anyway. He just wanted to know that he could. If it got to that.

He's not sure why it matters so much, anyway. It's not like Bruce belongs to him, even though it kind of feels that way sometimes. It's not like it makes a difference if Bruce stays or leaves.

Except it kind of does.

Tony is used to getting whatever he wants; hell, he's used to having it before he knows he wants it. People throw themselves at him, trying to impress him, trying to get him to pay attention. It's always been that way.

Bruce, though.

Bruce is...what is he, exactly?

Tony is not at all, not in the least, not in any way shape or form accustomed to looking up to anyone. He's the best and brightest, after all, and he's proved it to himself and everyone else over and over and over again. But Bruce - Bruce is the only person Tony has ever met who might outstrip him in the intelligence department.

He's _also_ the only person Tony's had trouble understanding.

The brainiac thing doesn't bother Tony at all. Tony admires Bruce's intelligence - more than admires, he's cowed, he's fucking _awed_ by it - and God it's so incredibly sexy hearing him talk about particle physics and string theory, he gets butterfly-stomach just _thinking_ about all the _brains_ behind that enigmatic little smirk. He wants to dive into Bruce's head and just...roll around in all the smart for a while.

The thing that really gets Tony is that he can't figure out what makes Bruce tick. It's more than the anger management - he knows that Bruce has to keep the green guy under wraps, and he gets that, he does. But he can't for the life of him figure out what Bruce likes, what he hates, what he wants.

For the past eight days, he's been trying every trick he knows (and he knows a lot, although admittedly he almost never has to use them) to elicit some kind, any kind, of response. And maybe it's because he can't get a rise out of Bruce, and maybe he's just tailspinning from the Pepper thing, but it's driving him absolutely fucking _nuts_. It's the same reaction every time, whether he's whispering unnecessarily close to Bruce's ear or giving him an impromptu shoulder massage or flat-out grabbing his ass: a shake of Bruce's head, a small smile, and a rueful sigh.

Two days ago he got into Bruce's face, close enough that their noses were touching, and adopted his best Hannibal Lecter voice. "Yes or no?" he growled, and Bruce just laughed and shook his head and turned away.

He'd never really understood that whole "wanting what you can't have" thing, because before, there was literally nothing he couldn't have. He gets it now. And it's making him crazy.

He doesn't know what to do with himself. Bruce is gone and he can't talk to Pepper and he feels weird and unbalanced and shiftless. He can't focus on anything and he keeps thinking of Bruce's hands, for some reason, those oversized mitts that look like they should be palming a basketball instead of manipulating a one-milliliter pipette.

Finally he gets fed up with himself - grabs his hair and moans "_Christ,_ Tony" in sheer exasperation - and decides to take the Mark VII for the initial calibration run he meant to have done two weeks ago. He flies into the lower atmosphere and his temperature and pressure and humidity sensors start to light up.

"Altimeter/environment sensors calibrated," JARVIS says after a moment. "Additional altitude not required," and Tony turns and dives back toward the earth.

The thing with Pepper threw him, and Bruce was there, so of course - of _course - _he hid in Bruce's company. It makes sense. It doesn't _mean_ anything, other than that he pinged off of Pepper and happened to collide with Bruce.

He needs to get over it, because this is fucking ridiculous. He splashes into the ocean, dodging neatly around an enormous, deep-swimming something (JARVIS helpfully identifies it as a whale shark), and powers straight down until he approaches the bottom.

"JARVIS," he says, "how much more can we take?"

"Pressure sensors are nearly finished calibrating, sir." A fifteen-second pause. "Calibrated. You are at seventy-five percent pressure capacity, sir, and a depth of 147 meters."

"Good enough for now." Tony might push for the red zone if he was feeling more focused, but instead he jackknifes and shoots back toward the surface.

Bruce walked into his life ten days ago and fucked everything all to hell the second he shook Tony's hand. Goddamn it. Just...goddamn it. Because now he's all ridiculous and mopey and _needy_ and if there's one thing Tony Stark definitely is _not,_ it's needy.

And then, of course, there's Pepper.

Pepper. Pepper who laid eyes on Bruce for all of two seconds and _changed. _No. Changed isn't the right word. _Transformed. Morphed._ Neither Bruce nor Tony had said a word to her and she was already different. She looked the same, she acted the same - started to hug Bruce, then fell all over herself apologizing when Tony stopped her and explained the unexpected-touching thing - but she _wasn't_ the same. Tony only suspected it until he had Bruce settled into the guest bed and went to his room - _their_ room - and then he knew it. Because she wasn't there.

He went down to her apartment and the door wasn't locked and she was sitting at the kitchen counter and she was crying.

He was at her side at once, hovering, asking What's wrong and What did I do and apologizing for all the things he could think of, because Pepper hardly ever cried and when she did it was almost always his fault. She pushed him away and stood up, still crying but not sobbing, and she still sounded like herself when she spoke. Her back was to him so he couldn't see her expression, but she turned her head enough that he saw the tears tracking down her cheeks.

When he asked what was wrong for probably the fortieth time, she just said "I'm sad."

Why, Pepper, for God's sake will you please just explain to me why, why are you so sad, what did I do, what did I do.

She shook her head. "You did nothing, Tony," she said, "this time you did absolutely nothing."

He threw his hands in the air. "Then Jesus Christ Pepper, why are you crying?"

"Because," she said, and he heard her breath catch but her voice stayed steady, "because we're done, Tony."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He came around the couch, put a hand on her shoulder, and she pushed it away. "Are you breaking up with me? If you are, I want my letterman jacket back. No." He started to pace. "I'm sorry. Seriously, Pepper. What are you talking about?"

"You need me, Tony," she said, still in that weirdly calm voice.

"No shit I need you." He came around in front of her, took her hands, ducked his head to try to meet her eyes when she looked away. "I'm completely useless without you, I can't take a piss in the morning without you to tell me which way the bathroom is, I'm sorry, that was crass, I can't help it. Yes." He tightened his hands when she tried to pull away. "I need you. I absolutely need you. I also need you to stop crying because I am as confused as a German on Harajuku Street right now."

She looked at him then. "Will you be quiet and listen to me?"

He dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath, gently extracted her hands from his. Reached up and cupped his face.

"You need me_,_" she said again. "You're with me because you need me, but I can't match you, Tony. I'm smart and capable, but I'm nowhere near where you are. I can't keep up."

He pulled away from her, waved off her words, heard the truth and refuted it: "I don't know what you're talking about, catching up," he said, turning his back on her. "There's no catching up, we're a team, Pepper, there's a _U_ in _team_ and it's spelled like Pepper. You and me. I can't function without you."

"You can't function without me," Pepper acknowledged. "But, Tony, I can function without you."

He put both hands on the bar, leaned into it, closed his eyes. "What are you saying, Pepper."

"I'm saying that I will always be here for you, because you need me. But I can't_ - _" She paused. "I can't need you."

"Why?" He stared at her, desperate now, unsteady; he's just saved the world, isn't he supposed to get the girl, not lose her? "Why the fuck not?"

"Because_." _She folded her hands in front of her (and he thought _Bruce does that_ and pushed it back down) and closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they were even and calm. "Because you're going to find someone, Tony, that you don't need. That you _want_. And I want that for you._"_

And then she kissed him lightly on the lips, and took him by the shoulders, and turned him toward the door.

"Get out of here," she said, and suddenly she was Pepper again. When he looked at her, she smiled. It wasn't a real smile, but that wasn't what mattered.

"Pepper - " he said, and she shook her head.

"Not now, Tony." Firmer this time. "Some other time we'll talk about it. I can't right now, I don't know when I'll be able to, but we will. Okay?"

And what choice did he have, now that she was Pepper again, his Pepper, with her questions-that-aren't-questions and no-argument tone? What choice but to go?

"Pepper," he said desperately. "I love you."

Her eyes filled again, but she kept walking. Propelling him.

"I know," she said, and closed the door behind him.

They didn't talk about it again, still haven't talked about it, and after that night it was like _they _had never happened. She's at his elbow just like always, smiling and joking and keeping him together, and he's still bewildered. He tried talking to her twice and both times she changed the subject. The second time he pushed it, and in response he got a firm "No, Tony" and her back as she walked away.

Tony flies as far as Montreal before looping back toward home. He detours over Westchester and actually drops altitude before changing his mind and shooting up higher than before. This is stupid, this attachment to Bruce, stupid and illogical and obviously a reaction to Pepper breaking up with him.

He brought it up the day after it happened, when Bruce was at one workbench and he was at the other. "Pepper left me," he said.

Bruce didn't look up, but his eyebrows twitched toward his hairline. "Left you?" he said.

"Not really left," Tony clarified. "She's still here. Just not...with me."

"Hm." Bruce bent down, bringing his face closer to the circuit board he was assembling. And then...nothing.

Tony didn't really know what to say after that. So he went back to work, and didn't bring it up again. He's still kicking himself about mentioning it because what did he expect? A pity party? Bruce's shoulder to cry on?

Tony starts to spiral down toward his landing pad. No Pepper. No Bruce. Just his huge, empty tower, echoing with a thousand things he should have said.

Fuck.

He really needs a drink.


	2. Instruments of Faith

Tony is pissed.

Tony is pissed because it's three AM and Bruce still isn't back. He's called his cell phone three times; no answer. He sent a text at ten: _Bring me kung pao chicken or you're homeless_ and got an answer almost immediately.

_Back later, not sure when._ Five words, and it was enough to make Tony feel like climbing the walls. Fucking Banner. Fucking Banner and his fucking meeting and what the fuck is he doing in Westchester, anyway? What's in Westchester? What's he doing in Westchester and why the fuck does Tony care?

He swigs his scotch and swears.

"JARVIS," he yells.

"Sir?" JARVIS manages to sound at once polite and disapproving, a trick Tony is pretty sure he didn't program.

"I want to know what Bruce is doing in Westchester." Tony finishes the scotch, one last pull, and sets the empty glass down hard on an end table. "Get into his email and find the IP address for whatever email came from wherever in Westchester and find out who the hell...I don't care. And where the fuck is Pepper. I swear to God - "

The elevator dings. Opens.

He stops and turns and there's Bruce. Rumpled, scruffy, wry little smile. He's carrying a paper bag.

"Hi," he says.

"Banner." Tony flings his arms wide, stumbling when the movement throws him off balance. "Nice of you to join us. Unfortunately, you missed the last showing of the evening, but if you'd like to stay the night, there'll be a matinee tomorrow afternoon." He catches a whiff of grease and soy sauce as Bruce sets the bag on the bar. "What's that?"

"Kung pao chicken." Bruce is looking at him, his gaze level and assessing. "How much did you drink?"

"What's it to you, Dad?" Tony gives him the finger.

"Okay." Bruce starts back toward the elevator and Tony lunges for him.

"What's in Westchester?" Tony demands, and he feels loose and angry and out of control.

"You're drunk." Calmly.

Tony pokes Bruce's chest with one finger. "You can't just _decide_ I'm drunk," he says. "That decision is mine and God's_."_

"I'm sorry I came back so late," Bruce says, and Tony has had it, really fucking _had_ it, Pepper's gone and Bruce is on his way out of Tony's life by way of Westchester and fuck if he's going to do this any more.

Bruce catches Tony's swinging fist in midair and suddenly Tony is on the floor, pain shooting through his tailbone and his left elbow, and holy Christ Bruce is _strong._

He's drunk but he's not an idiot, so he stops struggling. Bruce's forearm is heavy against his chest.

"If you wanted to make my ass hurt, Banner, I can think of at least three better ways to do it," he says.

Bruce's frown deepens. Abruptly he's standing, reaching down, pulling Tony to his feet. He locks a hand around the back of Tony's neck and leads him over to the couch.

"Sit," he says.

Tony sits.

"What the hell, Tony," Bruce says, hands on his hips, and it isn't a question.

Tony holds up his hand, ticking off items one at a time on his fingers. "One. This is my house, you're _my_ guest, mine, and _two_, so what the fuck is it with you just wandering in and out like you own the place, and _three, _where would you be if it weren't for me, you'd be in fucking Calcutta rolling around in the dirt - "

He's trying to piss Bruce off, trying to bring the green guy out because he's sick and fucking tired of Bruce smiling all Zen-like and refusing to react, and he knows it's a bad idea and doesn't care.

" - you should be thanking me, anyway - " Glaring up at Bruce, daring him to get angry.

Flash of green in Bruce's eyes before he turns away.

"I'm sorry to have been such an inconvenience," he says, mild as always. "See you, Tony."

This time, when he heads toward the elevator, Tony doesn't chase him down.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tony wakes up on the couch with a pounding headache and a mouth that tastes like he's been gnawing on a dish towel. He puts his hands over his eyes for a few moments before he stands up, and barely makes it to the bathroom before he vomits.

He feels marginally better after that - the heavy, sick feeling in his stomach is gone, at least. He stumbles back out to the living room. "JARVIS."

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Bruce. Is he - "

"Gone, sir."

Gone. Of course he is. Tony doesn't remember exactly what he said last night, but he remembers wanting to hurt Bruce, wanting to damage him, wanting him to feel as rotten and empty and helpless as he himself does. The thought makes him want to vomit again.

After all, what has Bruce been besides a good friend?

And Bruce doesn't owe him anything. He's got every right to stay out until three AM if he wants to.

"I'm an asshole," he mumbles.

"Quite right, sir," JARVIS says.

Tony glares at the nearest sensor. "Enough out of you."

"Sorry, sir." The AI falls silent.

"I should - " he starts, and stops, because he doesn't really know, at all, what he should do. He reaches for his phone, hoping he'll find a missed call from Bruce, a text message, something.

He doesn't.

It's two hours before he works up the nerve to call Bruce, and to Bruce's credit, he answers on the second ring.

"Hi, Tony."

"I'm sorry," Tony says, by way of hello.

"I had a feeling you would be," Bruce says dryly.

"Are you coming back?" Tony hears the plea in his voice and pushes it back. "I mean, it'd be nice if you did."

No answer at first, then: "I think it's better if I - stay away - for a while."

"It's boring without you."

A humorless chuckle. "I see. So you're missing the entertainment."

"You're the only intelligent conversation I get around here," Tony points out.

To that, Bruce responds "Meet me at Junior's in Brooklyn. I feel like cheesecake."

Tony's there in less than twenty minutes; he has a booth and a plate of pastries and has signed three autographs by the time Bruce walks in. Bruce waits, looking vaguely amused, as the last one - a bright-eyed kid about ten years old - scurries away.

"Is it just when you're in the suit, or does that happen all the time?" he asks, sliding into his seat.

"I'd like to think it's me, but truthfully, I get a lot less attention when I'm in sweat pants and sneakers." Tony picks up a pastry and stuffs it, whole, in his mouth. "So are you coming back, or what?" he says, spraying crumbs over the table.

Bruce sighs heavily. "I don't know if that's a - " and Tony interrupts.

"Wherever you're staying, I'll make it five times nicer," he says. "No, eight. Ten. Ten times nicer. Heated Italian marble floors, how does that grab you? I can build you a JARVIS, if you want. You can make yours a lady. JARVETTE. Whatever you need, it's yours." He gives Bruce his biggest, best, shiniest grin.

"Tony, I get this feeling that you think I owe you something." Bruce doesn't return the grin.

"What gave you that idea?"

Soft huff of wry laughter. "You."

"Me?" Tony looks at him blankly. "I said that?"

"Along with a lot of other things. You were...not very nice."

Tony regards the pastry plate. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Is this about Pepper?" Bruce says, and Tony looks up in surprise.

"Pepper?" he says. "No. Why?"

"I don't know." Bruce scrapes his thumbnail across something crusted on the table. "With her...leaving...and everything."

"She didn't leave."

"Yeah, I know." Bruce's eyes are sympathetic now, how does he manage to put so much emotion into them when the rest of his face gives away absolutely nothing?

"It's not Pepper," Tony says, and what he wants to say is _It's you._

"I'm not property," Bruce says.

"I know."

"I don't like feeling..." He pauses. "Indebted."

"You're not indebted to me." Tony puts his hands flat on the table, leans forward, stares hard at Bruce. "I'm sorry I was a dick. You don't owe me anything, you're doing me a favor, staying with me. You've been awesome and I've been shitty and I want you there. You're the best company I've had in - " He considers. "A long time."

Bruce has succeeded in scraping whatever-it-is off the table. He brushes away the crumbs. "Likewise," he says.

"Then you're coming back?" Tony tries not to sound too eager.

"...No."

"What?" Tony swallows his dismay. "Why the hell not?"

Bruce takes a deep breath. "I'm working on a project."

"What? Since when?"

"Since yesterday." Bruce shifts uncomfortably. "In Westchester. I'm going to stay up there for a while."

"You can stay in the Tower. Commute. I'll have you driven up every morning." Tony knows he sounds desperate now but he can't help it.

"Tony." Bruce puts his hands over Tony's and meets his eyes. He lets go. "I think you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"You own everything on the planet," Bruce says. "You see something you want, and it's yours. I'm not an addition to your collection."

Tony flinches. "I never said you were."

"We're going in that direction and you know it." Bruce sits back. "You want me there whenever you want me there. You made that clear last night. And I'm _not property_."

"I'm sorry." Helplessly angry, now; how did this go so wrong? "I didn't mean it."

"Stop saying that." There's that flash of green again, bright against the brown of Bruce's irises. "You meant it, it's fine that you meant it, but if we're going to move forward from here, I need some...space." He gets up, fishes in his pocket, throws a few bills on the table.

Tony starts to wave them away, but stops when he sees Bruce's expression.

"Iron Man!" pipes a small voice at his elbow. Tony is about to snap at the pigtailed girl clutching a pen and a cocktail napkin, but Bruce is already getting up.

"I'll call you in a couple days," he says. He picks up his bag.

Tony signs the autograph. Then he sits at the table and eats the pastries, one at a time, until there's nothing left but crumbs.

_Shit_, he thinks. Bruce didn't even get his cheesecake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's a week before Bruce calls.

Tony's proud of himself because although he felt like he was going crazy, he didn't break into Bruce's email and he only called him five times. No answer any of those times. And now, finally, his phone is ringing.

"Hi." Trying not to sound too excited.

"Hi, Tony."

"Whatcha doing? Miss me? You miss me, I know you do." He puts Bruce on speakerphone.

"Doing anything today?" Bruce asks.

Tony pulls up his calendar. Board meeting at ten, lunch with the Mayor at one, two more meetings with Pepper at three and five. "Nope."

"You want to come up to Westchester?"

Tony freezes.

"Um, okay." He tries to keep the question out of his voice and can't.

Bruce gives him the GPS coordinates because it's not like the Mark V has Google Maps installed (although Tony could certainly do it if he wanted to), and twenty minutes later Tony is landing on the sweeping front lawn of one of the more ridiculous mansions he has ever seen.

He pops his mask. "Hi. Where are we right now?"

"Is that the V? Fold it up and I'll tell you." Bruce is already walking toward the mansion. He glances back once. "And Tony."

The V is already back in its briefcase. Tony hefts it and jogs to catch up. "What?"

"If you make any comments about what anyone looks like in here - " Bruce gives him a threatening look - "I swear I will shave your head in the middle of the night."

Tony looks at him, trying to look innocent. "I'll be good."

Five minutes in, Tony sees why Bruce made the threat.

"Hank McCoy," says the furry blue guy, extending a hand (paw?).

Tony takes it. "Tony Stark," he says faintly.

McCoy smiles - at least, he bares his fangs in what Tony assumes is a smile - and dips his chin. "I've heard a lot about you," he says.

"Wow, and I've heard...nothing...about you." Tony tries not to stare.

"It's okay," McCoy says, when Bruce glares at Tony and starts to apologize. "I know how I look. Long story short, radiation-induced X-factor plus lab-created DNA-modifying hormonal extract equals big, blue, and furry." The teeth again.

"Radiation hasn't worked out too well for either of us, has it?" Bruce says, and fuck if he isn't grinning at McCoy.

"At least you don't need custom-tailored clothes to accommodate your...pelt," McCoy says, quirking an eyebrow at Bruce.

"Yeah, but if you only knew the number of shirts I've gone through." Bruce's grin gets bigger.

They both laugh and suddenly Tony is _pissed._

"Did you bring me over here to discuss your wardrobes, or are we actually doing something?" he snaps, and they both look at him.

"Of course." The smile drops off McCoy's face and he jerks his head toward the doorway. "Let's go to the lab."

The lab is smaller, of course, than Tony's facilities, but the equipment with which it is appointed is no less impressive. In fact, McCoy has a number of machines - biotechnology, mostly, including a Coulter microcounter and what Tony is pretty sure is a confocal laser scanning nanoscope - that Tony hasn't any idea how to use. Tony identifies Bruce's workbench immediately: it's set up exactly like his bench at home.

McCoy shows him what they've been working on, and Tony can understand why Bruce got sucked in. Because, if what McCoy is telling them is true (and Tony has no reason to believe it isn't; hadn't he met Spiderman only a month or two ago?), there are a _lot - _a mind-boggling number, how has he missed them? - of mutants out there.

And this virus, this Legacy virus, could kill all of them.

"How long has this thing been around?" Tony asks, watching red blood cells lyse in high definition under the nanoscope.

"Since the Seventies," McCoy says. "It was..." He pauses.

"They were trying to replicate the Super Soldier," Bruce supplies.

Tony snorts. "The government really can't learn." He looks up from the scope, blinking at the sudden change of perspective. "Has anyone been infected?"

Bruce and McCoy exchange a look. Then McCoy points to his workbench. Taped above it is a photograph of a girl of maybe twelve or thirteen years old, straight blond hair and a broad smile, sitting with an young blond man in a field of flowers.

"Her name was Ilyana Rasputin," McCoy says, and Tony hears pain under his words. "She died six months ago. The boy in the picture is her brother, Piotr." He clears his throat. "My colleague and I attempted to neutralize that strain, the Legacy-1, but it mutated. We've been able to keep the second virus in culture - it appears to be much slower to cause symptoms _in vivo, _though.We infected mice three months ago and still we haven't seen its effect."

"What does it do?" As irritated as Tony is with the subtext Bruce and McCoy are trading, he can't help but be fascinated, because this is _big._ Maybe not intergalactic war kind of big, but pretty fucking big nonetheless.

"Legacy-1 targeted the X-factor, the gene that differentiates _Homo sapiens_ from _Homo superior_. It caused rapid changes in Ilyana's DNA. Worked like a fast-moving cancer, essentially." Hank hands Tony a lab notebook. "Legacy-2 doesn't appear to progress as rapidly. We noted changes in both mice and mutants on a molecular level, but no changes have shown up on the organisms themselves."

"What about cells from normal humans?" Tony flips through the notebook. Hank has tiny, square handwriting.

"No effect that we've noted. We called in Dr. Banner because Fury wanted - "

Tony cuts him off. "Fury? So this is a S.H.I.E.L.D. project. Does that one-eyed troll have his hands in everything?"

McCoy sighs. "The initial creation of Legacy wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. It was kept under wraps, and the virus contained, by the NIH. But the Mutant Liberation Front went undercover at the NIH and stole three vials a year and a half ago. They kidnapped Ilyana and infected her with one. We got the other two back, but it was...too late for her."

"Wait." Tony holds up a hand. "Mutant Liberation Front? What is that? Like PETA for superhero test subjects?"

"Hardly." McCoy's mouth twists in a scowl. "They're a mutant terrorist organization. Bunch of extremists who aren't above threatening their own to achieve subjugation. Actually - " The scowl deepens. "I suspect that psychic manipulation has a good deal to do with many of their activities. Their leader is a powerful telepath named Stryfe who claims he's from the future."

"Oh." Tony snorts. "Well. That doesn't sound insane."

"It's not as insane as you might think," McCoy says, "but never mind. The point is, the other two vials were recovered, but S.H.I.E.L.D. determined them too dangerous for the NIH and gave them to us to deactivate." His eyes flicker toward the incubator full of culture plates. "Although I'm sometimes not sure they should have."

Uh-uh. He doesn't get to play the sad monster card. Hell no. "You screwed up," Tony says bluntly, and at that, McCoy looks up.

"In a way," he admits. "In the process of attempting to slow down the progression of symptoms - " he pauses - "we induced an additional mutation. Created the Legacy-2, essentially."

"Ehhh." Tony makes a buzzer sound. "Science fail."

Bruce glares at him. Tony scrunches up his eyes and makes his best _I'm sorry_ face.

"Hank's been using his own epithelial cells to try to figure out this one," Bruce says, turning away from Tony. "For some reason, it doesn't induce mutations in his X-factor like Legacy-1 did. Maybe because of the extract he took." He and McCoy exchange a glance.

Tony frowns. He doesn't like that look. Oh no. He doesn't like that look _at all_.

"And, oddly - " McCoy gives Bruce a small smile - "although it doesn't seem to do much to Bruce, it actually _induces_ mutation in Hulk's cells."

"Wait," Tony says. "How did you - where did he - "

"We have a room, here, in the sub-basement," McCoy says. "It's a...kind of simulator. Meant for battle training, opponent reconstructions, that sort of thing. The walls are reinforced with technology from - "

Tony interrupts him. "So the Hulk can't break through."

"Doesn't look like it," Bruce says. "I had them shoot me with a tranquilizer dart and get samples before I turned back. Worked out pretty well."

"Jesus," Tony mutters. "Okay. So. Great. You're a lab rat. Better call mutant PETA."

"I prefer _volunteer_." Bruce is smiling, but the smile is aimed at McCoy.

"It's quite interesting, actually," McCoy says. He returns the smile, and does he look...almost _bashful?_ "The virus's effect on Hulk's cells. It gives him, it appears, an X-factor of his own."

"Oh. Like he needs to be _more_ giant and green," Tony mutters, folding his arms.

But neither doctor seems to have heard him. They've shifted closer together, their elbows touching now, and Tony can't take it.

"Okay." He comes toward them, slaps both hands on the lab table, and leans in. "First of all, what the hell am I doing here if you two have everything under control? Secondly, at what point - " he points at McCoy - "did _he_ become _Hank_?"

McCoy and Bruce look at each other again, and the expression on McCoy's furry face clearly says _Ah, I see what you meant._

"Give me _one reason_, seriously, one, that I shouldn't pick up and - " Tony starts, and Bruce interrupts.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I...didn't do a good job tying that in." And he's at Tony's side, one hand on the small of Tony's back, turning him. "Here."

He presses a button on a small panel on the wall, and at once a screen slides back, revealing a large plate-glass window. And behind the window...

"What..." Tony walks toward the window as though in slow motion, barely feeling Bruce's hand drop off his back. He brings his nose all the way up to the glass. Breathes out, barely audible: "...the fuck...is that."

Behind the glass is a white room, at least thirty feet by thirty feet. Bright fluorescent lights. Sealed doors. No windows.

And in the room...

"I want to get in there." Tony turns, sees the smirk on Bruce's face, but is too excited to care. "What _are_ those? It looks like something out of Star Trek. Or Star Wars. No, definitely Star Trek. Those can't be man-made, _what are those things?_ For the love of all that is holy, will someone tell me how I can get in there?" He is sweating now, his heart racing, because oh dear God the machines in that room. There are configurations that defy gravity, materials that look as though they're made of solidified light, and he can't see a rivet or a weld seam or a bolt anywhere.

He turns to McCoy. "Where the...how..._where is this from?_"

"It's from the Shi'ar Empire."

Tony starts. Spins. Behind him is an older guy, bald as an egg, sitting in a wheelchair that looks as though it requires almost no effort to move.

Tony puts a hand over the arc reactor. "Jesus. You scared the shit out of me. Who are you?"

"Hi, Professor," McCoy says.

"Hello, Hank. Dr. Banner. Mr. Stark," the man says, and smiles. He has a cultured British accent and an easy way about him, but Tony finds himself tensing, because something about him feels..._wrong._

"It's because I'm a telepath," the man says. "Charles Xavier." He extends a hand.

"Telepath." Tony stares. So _this_ is why McCoy said that thing about Stryfe not being totally insane. Furry blue mutants are one thing, but telepaths...oh, that is a completely different game.

"Indeed," Xavier says, dropping his hand. "It's disconcerting at first. Be assured that I don't come into anyone's head without being invited, but most people do experience some...boundary issues...when they first meet me." He gives Tony a small smile. "My apologies."

Tony glares. "My head is not your business, Xavier."

"Of course." Xavier is smoothly gracious. "You were asking about the Shi'ar laboratory."

"What the fuck is a Shi'ar?" Tony feels like grabbing the Mark V and flying the hell out of here, it's gotten so weird. But that would mean not being able to play with all those shiny spacey-looking machines in there, and that's something Tony really, really, _really_ wants to do.

"The Shi'ar Empire is a network of worlds in the Shi'ar Galaxy." That smile again, as though this explains everything. "It's...not close."

"Right. Right. Okay, I get it, tesseracts, wormholes to other dimensions, I get that. But. How did all their shit get here? Don't they want it back?"

"I have a..." Xavier pauses. "Liaison. With access to some very handy portals." He nods toward the white room. "These are basic laboratory tools for virology, molecular nanobiology, imaging, time-lapse - "

Tony holds up both hands. "I'm sorry - time - time-lapse?"

Xavier's smile widens, and he points to a large machine in the corner. It looks a bit like a CT scanner, except that where a patient would go, there's a two foot by two foot clear cube. "Limited-field temporal manipulation. Speeds up or slows down time in that cube, to get a better idea of symptom progression." He arches an eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain that every time we use it, a star implodes somewhere in the universe, but as I've yet to see any negative repercussions close to home, you can consider it part of your equipment."

"My - my equipment?" Tony takes a deep breath, trying to control his excitement at the idea of _getting to play with machines from space._

"Indeed." Xavier exchanges a glance with McCoy. "You're the best technological mind we have, Mr. Stark. We've only begun to brush the surface of the capabilities of these machines, and we need to capitalize on every resource available to us. You're not our best bet; you're our only bet." He holds Tony's gaze, and his eyes are clear and blue and serious_._

Tony looks straight back at him. Scowls.

"Fury's behind this," he says.

Xavier sighs. "In a way," he says. "It's a S.H.I.E.L.D. project, on paper. But it's my baby. It's my people the Legacy virus will affect, not his." He turns his wheelchair and moves a few feet away, not looking at them. "Ilyana was my student, my responsibility. I'd like to make this right. I'd like to neutralize this virus so it doesn't take any more innocent lives." He takes a deep breath.

"If you'll excuse an old man," he says, moving his wheelchair toward the door. "I believe it's all a bit too much for me, right now. If you need me, I'll be in my office."

The door slides closed behind him as he leaves. Tony turns to face Bruce.

"Okay," he says. "_Now_ can I go in there?"


	3. Anywhere But In Between

After the third explosion, Bruce tells him to wear the suit to the lab.

"No way," Tony protests, attempting to sidestep Bruce to get to the lab door. "Too heavy. Too awkward. I can't make any small movements. It's stupid."

"It's safer." Bruce mirrors Tony's movements, bracing a hand on Tony's chest to keep him from pushing any further forward. "Wear the suit."

"No." Tony makes a grab for the doorknob. Bruce swats his hand away.

"Suit," he says, pointing. "At least until you're done dismantling things. Once they're not blowing up, you don't have to wear it."

"I can't figure out how they're supposed to function until I see how they're put together," Tony says.

"So you wear it till then," Bruce replies. "Or you're not getting in here."

"_Fine._" Tony scowls.

It takes twice as long to do half as much, but Tony concedes that getting thrown against the wall when the reticulum replicator explodes a fourth time hurts a lot less when he's wearing the suit.

They've been working together for two weeks now, Tony and Bruce and McCoy. At first it was awkward, because it's obvious that McCoy and Bruce have a lot in common, and the easy rapport between them made Tony feel irritated and left out. But Bruce seems happy, bantering back and forth with the big blue biochemist, and seeing him smile that often - real smiles, with teeth and everything - makes Tony happy too.

And okay, it makes him almost - not quite but _almost_ - as happy to get to play with all those Shi'ar toys.

He spent the first two days on the very smallest piece of equipment in the lab: an ultracentrifuge, or at least, the Shi'ar equivalent of one. He dismantled it completely, which took some doing, because almost none of the hardware that had been used to construct it were identifiable. Once he'd familiarized himself with the basic components, he put it back together and confirmed that it worked.

"I don't get how Xavier has all this stuff and has no idea how to use it," he said at one point, as he assembled a circuit board to install in the replicator.

McCoy shrugged his massive shoulders. "He asked for what we needed, they gave it. Instruction manuals weren't part of the deal."

"By the way, _who_ gave it? He never said who his liaison is." Tony frowned at the assortment of millimeter-long capacitors laid out on the bench in front of him. He used pickups to select one and inserted it into the board.

"Her name is Lilandra Neramani," McCoy said. "She's a Shi'ar empress. And Professor Xavier's..." He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Consort."

"I'd love to hear how _that_ first date went," Tony said, smirking. "Does she live here, or what?"

"Not any more." McCoy turned away, and it was clear that the conversation was over.

Since then, Tony has taken apart three more machines in the lab. Two he reassembled in exactly the same way; he experimented with the third, adding in a few things here and there to see what would happen. The explosions were perhaps not completely unavoidable, but he's happy with the results.

"I'm leaving early today." McCoy is packing up, replacing glassware in his cabinets and locking the incubator. "Meeting with Jean."

"'Bye, Hank." Bruce is absorbed in his equations; he doesn't look up.

Once McCoy is gone, Tony moves over to sit next to Bruce. "Hi," he says.

"Hi, Tony."

"So. McCoy." Because Tony hasn't spoken to Bruce alone this whole time: usually, when McCoy leaves the lab, Bruce does too. And Bruce has been oddly negligent about returning Tony's calls.

Bruce looks at Tony, then back to his screen. "What about him?"

"You guys are buddies."

Bruce hesitates, then: "Yeah."

And Tony hears it, the unspoken meaning in that pause. Suddenly he knows, he _knows_, that there's truth to all those half-baked suspicions that rattle around in his skull every evening on the flight home. It falls into place like a schematic holograph, the smiles and touches and coordinated departures.

"You're seeing him," Tony accuses, and when Bruce looks away, he knows it's true.

"I don't want to talk about this with you," Bruce says.

"Why?" Tony snaps. "Afraid I'll rag on you 'cause you've got a thing for big, blue, and hairy? I'm not judging. You can indulge whatever fetish you want."

"Shut up, Tony." Bruce's voice is strained; his hands are fisted on the lab bench.

"Why?" Tony leans toward him, putting his face right next to Bruce's, close enough to smell sweat and aftershave. "Ashamed? Embarrassed to be seen with a guy who bears more resemblance to a Muppet than a human?"

"_Please,_" Bruce grits out, and Tony sees green but he can't seem to stop.

"I bet he's hung, right? Probably looks like Cookie Monster's junk. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase _blue b_-"

Tony hits the floor ass-first: explosion of pain in his sacrum, and then his head cracks against something hard and everything goes black.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You seem to revel in close calls, Mr. Stark."

Tony wants to tell whoever owns the smug BBC voice to shut up. His head is killing him, and for some reason his back and ass are too. He scrunches his face and tries to remember: did he get in a fight?

"Very nearly," says the voice. "Fortunately, Dr. Banner had the presence of mind to head for the Danger Room when he realized he was starting to transform."

"All right, what the hell is going on?" Tony opens his eyes and sits up. "Ow." He puts his hand to the back of his head and finds a golf-ball-sized bump. "What happened?"

Bright lights. Stainless steel. He's lying on a bed in what looks like a hospital room.

"You've been in the MediLab for the past hour," Xavier says. He moves his wheelchair a little closer to the bed. "No skull fracture, fortunately. You did crack your tailbone. What's that old saying about poking a sleeping bear?"

Suddenly he remembers. "Shit."

"Quite." Xavier raises his eyebrows; he looks amused. "You didn't take Dr. Banner's...disclosure...well."

Tony glares. "Stop reading my mind."

"Stop projecting your thoughts, and I will," Xavier retorts smoothly. "How are you feeling?"

"I have a goose egg the size of Hulk's fist, my ass feels like it got kicked with a steel boot, and Bruce - " He stops. Bruce what? "How do you think I feel?" he finishes crossly.

"I think you feel slighted and jealous," Xavier says.

Tony snorts. "Jealous. Sure."

Xavier just gazes at him, blue eyes calm and even, until Tony starts to feel squirmy.

"Fine," Tony says sulkily. "Maybe - "

Xavier cuts him off. "I'm sorry. We're about to be interrupted."

The door opens.

"Tony," Bruce says.

"Excuse me." Xavier turns his wheelchair toward the door. Bruce moves aside to let him through, closes the door, and turns back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm so sorry," he says. He's wearing an ill-fitting shirt and his hair is disheveled and he looks terrible.

Tony sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain in his tailbone. "No hard feelings," he says. He rubs his head. "I may have had that coming."

"No, you didn't." Bruce comes toward him. Stops. Tony sees, now, that his eyes are red.

"Please for the love of God tell me you aren't upset because you hit me," Tony says.

Bruce lets out a strained laugh. "I'm upset because you're an asshole."

"So I've heard." Tony pushes himself off the bed and takes a few experimental steps. Not much pain. "Don't beat yourself up." He snorts. "Or me, for that matter."

Bruce exhales hard. Takes his hands out of his pockets and runs them through his hair. "Tony, I - "

"Don't, okay?" Tony looks away and scuffs one foot against the tiled floor. "It's my fault. I was out of line."

"You were out of line," Bruce agrees. "But I still - "

"You did exactly what I was trying to get you to do, which was to get mad, and I'm sorry." Tony walks past Bruce without meeting his eyes. He's reaching for the doorknob when he feels Bruce's hand on his arm.

"It drives me crazy when you do that," Bruce says.

Tony looks at Bruce's hand, then at his eyes. "Do what?"

"You talk too much." Bruce lets go of Tony's arm and puts his hands back in his pockets. His expression is reproachful. "Let someone else have a turn, for a change."

"Okay." Tony bounces a little. "Your turn, then, fine, go."

Bruce sighs. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Hank."

"You don't have to tell me anything. I'm not your social secretary. I don't have to know, I don't need to know, I don't want to know."

Bruce is studying him. "So you're fine with it."

"Yeah, of course. I was just - " Tony swallows hard - "giving you a hard time. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I hit you."

"Apology accepted." Tony holds out a hand.

Bruce takes it. "Yours too."

"We cool?"

"Yeah." Bruce gives Tony's hand an extra squeeze before letting go.

"Good." Tony claps Bruce on the shoulder. "I'm gonna head back to the Tower. You want me to bring anything in tomorrow?"

Bruce's lips curve in a small, apologetic smile. "Just you," he says.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Tony, wake up."

Bruce's voice and is he home? It takes Tony a moment to remember that he told JARVIS to auto-answer when Bruce calls.

"Hey." He rolls over, rubs his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Can you get here? There's a problem."

Tony is already on his feet. "On my way."

He tries Bruce's phone on his way to Westchester, and McCoy's, but there's no answer on either one. So he just flies.

It's three AM, but the Mansion is lit up like a Christmas tree. There are people crawling all over the front lawn: Tony's heads-up display identifies _Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Scott Summers, Jubilation Lee. _Names upon names he doesn't recognize. No Bruce. Tony circles the Mansion once, and then Bruce appears on his screen. He's standing on the roof.

"What happened?" Tony asks, the moment his feet hit the ground.

Bruce is pacing, hands raking through his hair, radiating tension.

"They got in," he says. "The Mutant Liberation Front."

"_What? _How?"

"Piotr Rasputin. Ilyana's brother. He broke into the lab and stole the virus." Green flash in Bruce's eyes. "He's working with them."

Well, hell. "I fail to see how that would be productive for him."

Bruce runs a hand over the back of his neck. "He said...we were making it worse. Said that his sister deserved better than us, that the rest of the mutants were going to make her death worth it." He snarls. "What the fuck, _worth it._"

"Jesus." Tony flips his helmet up. "How long ago?"

"Maybe thirty, forty minutes." Bruce's hands are clenching and unclenching; Tony can see veins standing out in verdigris on his neck.

"Bruce."

"What?" Bruce doesn't look at him, doesn't stop pacing.

"Hey." Tony moves in front of him and he dodges. Keeps walking. And now: warning ripple of the Hulk's muscles under Bruce's shirt.

_Shit._ He can't transform here. The Front is way out of reach, the Danger Room is five levels down, and nothing will come of the Hulk's presence but more damage.

"JARVIS, fold up." In six seconds the V is gone and it's just Tony, barefoot because he was moving too fast to put on shoes. "Bruce, come here."

"I - " Bruce looks at him then, and Tony sees the desperation in his now-green eyes. "Can't."

"You can." Two steps and Tony is at his side. One more and he's in Tony's arms.

Bruce pushes at Tony. "Get off."

Tony tightens his grip, feeling the Hulk rumbling beneath his hands. "You're okay," he says, trying to keep his voice calm. "Bruce. Hey. Look at me. Look." He ducks his head and presses his forehead against Bruce's. "Breathe with me. Come on, Bruce. Look at me. I'm here. I'm here with you. Breathe."

Bruce is quaking. Sweating. But his hands fall away from Tony's chest. He meets Tony's gaze, his eyes glowing green with rage and fear.

"Breathe," Tony says, and brings his hands to either side of Bruce's face. Smooths his thumbs over the stubble at Bruce's jaw. "You're okay. I'm here."

Bruce takes a deep, shuddering breath. He closes his eyes.

"That's it." Tony feels something in him go slack with relief. "That's it. You're okay."

Bruce breathes like that, long slow breaths over and over. When he opens his eyes again, they're brown.

"Welcome back," Tony says.

"God." Bruce sinks to the ground, wraps his arms around his knees, hides his face. "That was almost...pretty bad."

"Not the worst." Tony puts his arm around Bruce's shoulders. "Not so bad."

Bruce leans into him. "That's twice in two days."

"One and a half. Not even a half, really. More like a buck twenty-five." Tony turns his face into Bruce's hair, breathes in soap and shampoo. "Thanks for hanging in there."

"Thanks for keeping me here." Bruce's voice is muffled by his folded arms. He doesn't say anything after that. Tony's ass starts to go numb, but he's not about to move, not with Bruce warm and safe against him.

Finally, Bruce takes a deep breath and lifts his head. "I'm okay," he says.

"I know." Tony lets his arm fall. He stands. Reaches down for Bruce's hand and pulls him to his feet.

"Thanks," Bruce says again, and without really knowing what he's doing, Tony pulls him in and hugs him.

"I'm sorry," he says, when Bruce's hands come up, when Bruce hugs him back.

"Sorry's overrated," Bruce says. "Come on. We've got a virus to save."


	4. Deliver Me In a BlackWinged Bird

"For Christ's sake, hurry, Summers - "

"Where the fuck is the - " Clang of metal. "Screwdriver. Shit. Shit."

"That's not _fast_ enough - "

"_MOVE._"

And they do, quickly, as the Hulk shoves forward. Frantic fumbling, metal crumpling in huge green hands, roar of frustration: the Iron Man suit is in pieces. And Tony Stark bleeds.

"Hulk, get back." Jean's voice is controlled but commanding, and the Hulk obeys. She drops to her knees beside Tony. Less than two seconds' assessment and: "I need room. All of you to the sides of the plane. Now."

Backs press against the fuselage, giving Jean a scant five feet of space to maneuver. "He's not breathing," and she tears into a plastic bag and pulls out a bag valve mask. Her fingers fly: assembling equipment, hooking tubing up to the oxygen tank, placing the mask over Tony's face. "Like we practiced, people. Jubilee, the respiratory kit. Give me a Miller four blade and get a seven-oh tube ready. Logan, break the resus box, I need epinephrine. Storm - "

"IV. Got it." Ororo has a tackle box of IV tubing and fluids open next to her on the floor; she's holding Tony's hand in both of hers, wrist flexed, looking for veins.

Jean takes the laryngoscope from Jubilee. Snaps it into position, opens Tony's mouth, slides it from right to left. "Tube," she says, and Jubilee hands her that, too.

"I'm in," she says. She holds the tube until Jubilee can secure it and attach the bag.

"We have access," Ororo says.

"Good. Hang the saline and get another one if you can." Jean puts her fingers onto Tony's throat. "Pulse is thready." Pause. "One-ten."

"Got your epi." Logan holds it up.

"Keep it with you," Jean says, putting her stethoscope in her ears, pressing the bell to Tony's chest. "Bilateral breath sounds. The bleeding - "

"On it." Logan is moving to Tony's crushed legs. "Jesus. Jeannie, this is bad."

"How we doing back there?" Scott calls, from the pilots' seat.

"Get us there and I'll tell you," Jean yells back. "Can't this thing go any faster?"

"ETA ninety minutes."

Jean looks up; her eyes are suddenly ablaze. "Ninety minutes," she says grimly. "He's not going to make it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You ready for this?" Scott said.

"Summers, I was born ready." Tony's helmet locked into place with a whir and a click.

"You know you don't have to - "

"Are you uninviting me to your party, One-Eye? After I got all dressed up and everything? I feel jilted." Tony smirked. "You better watch out. Hell hath no fury like a billionaire scorned."

Scott's expression didn't change. "It's not your fight," he said.

"Sure it is," Tony said easily. "They stole my toys. I want them back." He pointed at Scott. "See you on Genosha."

Whine of Tony's charging suit, blaze of light, and he was gone.

"Hey," Scott called to the others. "Hurry up. Stark's already off and I don't want him taking on the Front alone."

They called off as they jogged into the plane, positions and roles and where they'd be if shit went bad. Bruce loped in last, behind Jean.

"I'm not sure I should be in here," he said nervously, fiddling with his seatbelt. "Maybe I should - "

"What you should do is buckle up and get ready to roll." Tony's voice came over the intercom. "Hurry up. Let's do this thing."

Genosha was far: an almost two-hour flight, even at top speed. Tony checked in a few times, mostly to see how much fuel they had left.

"I told you," Scott said, the third time he asked, "we're running Shi'ar engines. Fuel efficiency is the very least of what this thing can do. Come by the hangar sometime and I'll show you how it works."

"Oh. _Oh_." Tony pitched his voice high and falsely polite. "You want me to come by your hangar? Maybe you can show me a couple of neat robots you made in shop class." He dropped the affect. "Have you _seen_ my tower, Summers?"

Scott looked at Bruce, who mouthed _Sorry_. Then: "Tony - "

"Bruuuuce." He drew out the name, sounding immediately contrite. "How long have you been listening?"

"Long enough to know that your insistence on alienating potential friends and allies is once more putting you at a disadvantage on multiple levels."

"_Multiple_ levels," Scott stressed. "Like hundreds. Thousands. So many levels, Stark. You have no idea."

The playful tone came back into Tony's voice. "Levels! That's what I'm saying, Summers! I'm saying you should come to Stark Tower because we have levels and levels and _levels_ of R&D, and if you want to bring in that incredibly dangerous space shit I say _yes,_ there is a level for that too!"

Bruce shook his head, then shrugged apologetically at Scott. Scott shrugged back.

"To answer your question, Tony, the fuel gauges are fine, thank you," Bruce said.

"Good." Bruce heard the buzz and crackle of Tony's intercom, interim sounds that assured an intact connection. Tony didn't speak for a few minutes. Then, just on Bruce's earpiece: "Can anyone else hear me?"

"Nope. Just me."

"You know I'm just checking because there are weight requirements for these things, the commercial flights always want you to think there are no restrictions but there are, and I don't want you to run out of fuel in case you get, you know, a lot _heavier, _and I just - "

"Tony." Bruce interrupted him.

"What?"

"I know you're worried about me. I'm worried about me too."

"Oh." Tony's voice was suddenly small. "Okay then."

More static and crackle.

"Tony," Bruce said again.

"Yeah?"

It was Bruce's turn to pause. "Um, thanks. For worrying about me."

"Thanks for not minding if I worry about you," Tony said, and then, "Are you really, really sure no one can hear this conversation, because I feel like we're in that movie right now, you know, the one with the mom from _Black Swan_ and Bette Midler, wind beneath my wings and all that shit, and I really feel that if anyone were hearing this conversation it's quite possible that I will be receiving tampons as my next birthday present." He exhaled hard into the microphone, and Bruce winced at the sound.

"I promise," he said, "no one can hear you."

"Okay. Good."

Another pause.

"Hey Bruce?"

"Hey what, Tony."

"You're not really into McCoy, are you? I mean, really?"

Bruce put his face in his hands. "Tony, if you're drunk right now, turn around and go back to the Mansion."

Tony sounded affronted. "Why is it that when I ask a serious question, everyone always assumes I'm drunk? I'm stone sober and I want to know. Are you really into him? Because if you are, I'll leave you alone. I'll back off, quit pouting, and we'll do whatever it is that regular guys do when they're hanging out. Football? We could watch football. Or wrestling. As long as we can still do robotics and astromechanical engineering during."

Usually Bruce would let Tony chatter himself off course until he ran out of steam, but they were on a mission, and Tony's constant deflection of real conversation was exhausting him.

"Tony," he said, "I don't think it's as...serious...as you think."

"How serious do you think I think it is?" Incredulously. "Do you think I _stay up nights_ wondering how serious you are about Elmo? Wait. Is it Elmo? Which one's the blue one that isn't Cookie Monster? I already made a Cookie Monster joke."

"Grover," Bruce said tiredly.

"Right. Grover. Sorry, that one didn't work out too well. Anyway, I don't think it's..." The playfulness faded out of Tony's voice. "How serious is it?" he asked.

"It's just..." Bruce paused, realizing that he didn't quite know how to explain his relationship with Hank. "It's new. Comfortable. He's...strong."

"Oh, you like strong dudes. I guess this means I need to spend more time in the gym."

"Not like that, Tony." Bruce closed his eyes in frustration. "I mean, he'd be a lot harder to hurt if..."

"If what? If you Hulked on his blue ass? Bruce, let me assure you, absolutely, unequivocally, that there is _no being on this planet_ that would fare well if Hulk decided to make a person pizza out of them."

"That's helpful," Bruce said.

"So what is it, then?" The curiosity reappeared in Tony's voice. "What do you like about him?"

Bruce paused. "He's just...easy to be around. Unassuming, you know? Doesn't ask anything of me."

Static. For a long time.

Then: "Oh."

And the intercom clicked off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Genosha used to be populated. That was before the uprisings, the slaughter, the war. Now it's a ruin. It's a hideout, too, but that's infrequent, largely because the island still hums and buzzes from the radioactive byproducts of a thousand mutant battles. It's mostly jungle now, with only one encampment. When the X-Jet landed, a mile from the ragtag assortment of buildings the Mutant Liberation Front had constructed, Tony was already there.

"Took you long enough," he remarked. "I was beginning to think I'd been stood up."

"And miss the good part?" Logan's grin was wide, eager, feral. "If you think I'd let that happen, you're crazy, pal."

"You're a piece of work." Jubilee arched an eyebrow at Logan. "Warmongerer."

He reached over and ruffled her hair. "Shut your trap 'til you've got a few more fights under your belt, firework."

"Is this a battle or an episode of _Friends_?" Scott shut the hatch and headed toward the tree line. "Quit yapping and come on."

"Nice to see the word _yapping _survived the millennium. You've been hanging around Rogers too much." Logan pulled on his jacket, smirking, and followed Scott.

"When you're team leader, Logan, you can make all the smartass remarks you want," Scott said without breaking stride.

"Maybe he should be." Jubilee jogged to catch up. "Scott, you got us lost last time, remember?"

"_I _remember." Jean poked Scott in the ribs.

He scowled. "Be serious, can't you?"

"Sure I can. Just don't need to yet." Jean hopped into the air. "I'll take north. Stark, you coming?"

"Natch." Tony's suit flared to life.

Bruce watched them dwindle to a pinpoints in the clouds. "How does she do that?"

Ororo and Scott exchanged a look, then resumed walking.

"She channels something they call the Phoenix force," Ororo said. "If we're being technical, she's the most powerful known mutant. She has the ability to travel transdimensionally, trans-galactically..."

Bruce stared. "Trans...galactically?"

That look again. "I wouldn't, um, ask her about it," Scott said. "It's a sore subject."

"If by sore, you mean still a little bent about destroying an entire alien race, then yeah, she's still sore," Jubilee chimed in cheerfully.

Logan elbowed her. "Quiet."

"Ow."

"Then don't be an ass."

"She had a little bit of a...psionic break," Scott explained. "Ended up on the other end of the universe."

"Consumed, like, half a solar system in the process," Jubilee said, dodging Logan's elbow.

"It almost _killed her._" Scott glared at Jubilee. "She didn't know what she was doing. And the Shi'ar deemed the energy a completely separate entity and acquitted her, Jubilee, thank you very much." He turned back to Bruce, adding, "We're on excellent terms with the Shi'ar now."

Jubilee snorted. "Mostly. As long as whatshername, that empress, doesn't hang out on Earth."

"That was voluntary," Scott snapped.

"All I'm saying is that it's a good freaking thing the Professor's got an in with the Shi'ar A-listers." Jubilee jammed her hands in the pockets of her raincoat and kicked the sand as she walked.

"You're lucky you're useful, kid," Logan said, "because really. Ass."

"Whatever." Jubilee scowled at the ground.

"Can we please try _not_ to bicker before a raid?" Ororo sounded weary. "Jubilee..."

"Yeah, I know, I know, think before I speak and whatever." Jubilee put her hands at her sides. There was a soft _paf_ sound, a flash of purple light, and then she was in the air too. "East. See you."

Bruce scuffed behind Ororo. "Phoenix force too?"

Ororo shook her head. "Plasma bursts. She just aims them downwards. Like Tony's suit."

"Can _all_ of you fly?" Bruce asked wryly.

Logan snorted. "Hardly. Do you have any idea how much adamantium weighs?"

Scott waved a hand. "I, too, am strictly gravity bound."

"Not me." Ororo spread her arms, and at once, a wind kicked up and filled the fabric webbing between her wrists and ankles. She shot up into the air, calling "South" as she rose.

"Meet at that hangar thing, remember," Scott yelled after her. "From the satellite photos. North door."

A thumbs up, a grin, and she was gone.

"Honestly," Scott said, "I shouldn't even bother briefing them. They don't pay any attention."

"What?" Logan was looking into the woods. He popped his claws.

Scott sighed. "Yeah. Exactly."

"No." Logan took a step, then another, and then he was running. "I hear explosions, Summers. Let's go."

They were quick, but the Hulk outpaced them both: he was on the beach knocking the snot out of a much smaller mutant by the time they arrived. "Here we go," Scott said.

There were four bodies on the ground outside the hangar; none were from their side. The hangar itself was half ablaze, a column of smoke rising from the south end. As they watched, a blast knocked out two windows, and Scott caught a glimpse of Tony flying around inside.

"Action's over there," Logan yelled, and took off toward the beach.

The Front was outnumbered, outpowered, outgunned. Hopelessly. Eight of them still stood, plus Stryfe, who was in the air. Fireballs and energy blasts and wave after wave of explosions; the X-Men dodged and retaliated. Hulk got into a grappling match with a mutant almost as big as he was, but not nearly as strong. In less than a minute, the mutant was motionless on the ground.

"Did anyone actually get the virus?" Scott yelled.

Jubilee fired a plasma burst at a laser-scythe-wielding mutant in Kiss makeup, knocking him to the ground. "Me."

"Don't drop it, for God's sake," Jean called from above, where she was exchanging psionic blasts with Stryfe.

The scythe's last shot went wild. "Be careful!" Jubilee yelled, sounding panicky. She deflected the shot before it hit Jean. "Pay attention to the psychic psycho, Jean, okay, not us."

"Right, sorry." Jean flew higher.

Logan swiped at a guy with four arms, missed, swore, and swiped again. "Why - did you - want to infect - mutants anyway?" he grunted, stabbing the man in the shoulder with the claws of one hand as he neatly relieved him of two of the arms with the other. "I feel like maybe a couple of you might have the X-factor too."

The man was too busy screaming to answer, so Jean answered for him. "They're brainwashed by this idiot," she called, diving down to dodge a blast and then powering back up again. "The least you can do is - _explain_ yourself," she screamed at Stryfe.

"Anarchist lunatic from the future, do you really need an explanation?" Ororo aimed a lightning bolt at a woman with mechanical dragon wings and watched her fall, smoking, into the ocean.

"Will you stop chit-chatting and focus?" Scott yelled, blasting a hole in the guy with the scythe when he started to get to his feet. "And where's Stark?"

And then: a deafening blast of psychic energy. _ZERO. NOW. FRONT, RETREAT._

Immediately, the four remaining mutants and Stryfe knitted together in a tight cluster. A deafening explosion from behind them: the hangar blew sky-high. What looked like a silver android shot out of the wreckage, toward the five members of the Front. There was a flash of blue light, and when the smoke cleared, they were gone.

"Well, shit." Logan retracted his claws and put his hands on his hips. "That's it?"

"Unless you want to put this guy out of his misery," Scott said, jerking his chin toward the previously-four-armed mutant, who was still twitching and bleeding on the sand.

"I'm trying to get over that killing strike thing," Logan said, raising an eyebrow. "Although I suppose he did try to kill me first."

_Scott._

It was aimed at Scott, but they all felt her voice.

Scott looked up. "Jean?"

But she was already streaking toward the hangar. And then: Hulk's roar, as her next words echoed in their heads.

_Stark's hit._

Hulk moved so fast he was almost a blur. In seconds he was at the ruined hangar, tearing through rubble, howling as he dug for Tony. But Jean was faster; a quick flick of her hand, and the building was up and out of the way in almost one piece.

"There," Scott called, but they all saw him.

"Oh Jesus." Logan ran to Hulk's side and heaved an I-beam off Iron Man's motionless form. The suit was smoking, and Tony's legs -

"Crushed," Jean said shortly. "I don't know what that android did, but this is bad. We have to get him to the plane and out of that suit. Move it."

Another flick of her hand, and Tony rose into the air. Hulk let out a bewildered roar, but he didn't grab for Tony. Blood dripped from the suit, pattered on the sand, left a Jackson Pollack of red as Jean flew him toward the jet.

"The rest of you," she called back, "get your asses to that plane."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It's never hurt before, being the Hulk.

Part of what Bruce hates so much about transforming is the fact that he doesn't hate it. Not at all. It's like falling, like letting go of everything, like sinking under when you've been treading water for hours. It's relief and elation and the freedom of pure, unadulterated rage.

Until.

Until, from his dim hiding place in Hulk's head, he saw what was happening. Saw Tony motionless and bleeding on the floor of the X-Jet, specter of death hanging over his head, and suddenly there was pain like he'd never felt before in his life. He howled: silently, desperately, impotent agony in a huge green prison. Felt the duality of Bruce and Hulk like shrapnel in his heart.

And for the first time, Hulk retreated.

He comes back to himself screaming, and the next second he's being pinned against the wall.

"Get it together, Banner," Logan growls, and then he's letting go to take up his place at Tony's side.

"Eighty minutes," Scott yells from the cockpit.

"Fuckin floor it, will ya?" Logan yells back.

Bruce can't do anything but stand motionless against the wall, staring at Tony. And oh God he's so pale, his hair looks blacker than it's ever looked and Bruce isn't sure if it's because his skin is dead white or because his blood is darkening everything. Jubilee is squeezing the Ambu bag, breathing for him, and Ororo has her fingers on his throat, and Jean and Logan are trying to control the bleeding, and he can't die, he _can't._

"He's not going to make it," Jean says again, and this time, she looks at Ororo.

"Jean - " Ororo starts, but Jean interrupts.

"I have to," she says.

Suddenly the cabin is filled with light: so bright Bruce can still see it even after he shuts his eyes, so bright it pierces his brain and fills his entire being. He hears Scott yell "Jean - no - _JEAN - " _and the plane dips sideways and they all stumble, and Jean is screaming, a wail that sounds as if her very soul is being ripped away.

And then...nothing.

Bruce opens his eyes.

For a moment he can't see anything. Everything is blurry, and all he can hear is muffled swearing. Logan's voice.

Slowly, piecemeal, life comes into focus. Ororo, shaking her head, getting to her feet. Jubilee on the floor, still poised with the Ambu bag in hand, looking stunned. Logan sitting against the wall.

Tony and Jean are gone.

"What the - " Bruce looks around. Nothing but a pool of blood where Tony had been, and fragments of the Iron Man suit scattered around it.

"She's gone." Scott sounds empty.

"Gone?" Bruce looks out the window, stupidly, as though he might be able to see Tony soaring through the clouds. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Aerie," Ororo says. "She must have taken him."

"What are you talking about, she can't take him there." Jubilee's voice is high and scared. "She can't. It would kill her."

"She would try," Scott says. He turns in the cockpit, and though his eyes are hidden behind ruby quartz, Bruce can see the pain on his face. "You know she would."

Jubilee's eyes fill. "That idiot," she says, and her tears spill over and splash onto her bloodied hands. "Why did she do that? That _idiot" _and she rears back and punches the fuselage.

Logan catches her hand just before it hits the wall. "Whoa."

She folds into him, sobbing, curling against his chest like a child. "Jean, Jean, Jean," Bruce hears her saying, over and over.

"Please," he says softly. "Please. Can someone explain what just happened?"

"Aerie is a planet in the Shi'ar Empire," Ororo says. She's standing in the middle of the plane, looking lost. "It's where the Empress lives, where they have the capability to...to heal those who are beyond repair." She pauses, looking as though she is struggling to say the next words. "It's near where she ended up...last time."

Bruce sways, dizzy and sick. _Tony. _"You mean - "

"The energy required to get there is equivalent to the energy the Phoenix force used to destroy that solar system." Ororo takes a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know - "

"If they survive, it'll be a fuckin miracle," Logan says flatly. He strokes Jubilee's hair. "There's nothing we can do about it now except get home."


	5. In A Field of Flame and Heather

_Eighty minutes,_ Scott had said, just before Tony and Jean disappeared. Eighty minutes, but it feels like an eternity.

Other than Scott and Logan's quiet pilot-copilot exchange, the plane is absolutely silent. Bruce looks out the window. Looks at the pale blue sky, the water below them, the faint curve of the horizon. Looks for Jean, although he knows she's worlds away.

Looks for Tony.

He tried to ask Ororo more about Aerie, about how many light-years away it is, about how long it would take Jean to get there, but Ororo didn't know and it made her cry when he persisted. So he stopped talking and went back to looking out the window.

"How long?" Jubilee asks. She's wedged behind Logan's chair on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Fifteen minutes," Scott says.

She puts her head back on her folded arms. "Okay."

When they arrive, Xavier is waiting on the landing pad.

"She's gone," Scott says as he passes. He doesn't look at Xavier.

"I know," Xavier says.

Jubilee leaves the hangar tucked under Logan's arm. Ororo shoots into the air as soon as her feet touch solid ground. Bruce is left standing at the open hatch of the X-Jet, and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know where to go.

Xavier's eyes are on him, and he feels the thought, as light as air, brushing against his mind. _If he can be saved, she will save him._

He thinks back, before he can help it: _And if he can't?_

He hears Xavier's sigh. _Then we will mourn them both._

Xavier's wheelchair squeaks when it turns. There's the sound of the electric door opening, then sliding shut, and Bruce is alone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He is numb as he strips the ruined, blood-crusted pants off and throws them into the trash. Numb as he showers. Numb as he dresses: Tony's T-shirt, Tony's pajama pants. He feels Tony in every movement he makes, every sound he hears.

And all he can think is _I should've come back when he asked._

Hank's knock on the door is light, tentative. "Bruce?"

Guilt washes over Bruce when he hears Hank's voice. "Yeah," he says.

The door opens, and Hank comes in. He moves toward Bruce and sits down next to him. The bed creaks under his weight.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Tony was jealous and Bruce stayed away anyway. Why?

He knows why. He wanted Tony to pursue him. He liked knowing that Tony wanted him - _craved_ him - couldn't keep his hands off him. He _liked_ being able to control Tony, even though he could barely control himself.

The Other Guy has really fucked with his psyche.

"Thanks." He looks at his hands.

Hank takes a deep breath. "He means a lot to you."

_Are you coming back? _Tony had said. _I mean, it'd be nice if you did. _"Yeah."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce sees Hank pinch the bridge of his nose. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. "I just wanted you to know that if you...if you want anything, I'm here. And if not..." He trails off. Pauses. "If not, I...understand."

Oh, Hank.

Hank. Steady, sure, kind and quiet and unassuming, gentle Beast who asks so little and gives so much. Bruce turns to face him.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he sees how deeply those two words cut. He reaches up, puts his hand on Hank's jaw, kisses him lightly.

Hank closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep breath.

"Once more," he rumbles, and so Bruce kisses him again. Deeper this time. But when he moves his hand to Hank's neck, to his chest, Hank pulls away.

"Maybe not tonight," he says quietly, and Bruce nods.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

Hank looks at him for a long time. "I know," he says at last. He bends and presses his lips to the top of Bruce's head. He leaves as quietly and as unobtrusively as he came in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days pass. Four. A week, then two.

Bruce called Pepper after he said goodbye to Hank, and he had to drive back to Stark Tower because she couldn't stop screaming. He asked JARVIS to submit her leave of absence from Stark Industries and took her back to the Mansion with him. She's been with him ever since.

She cries all the time now, hardly eats, curls against him at night and doesn't sleep. He knows she's reliving those three months when Tony was in Afghanistan, torn between grief and hope. He knows how much she hurts.

"I knew it was you," she murmured on the third night.

He rolled over. "What?"

She was lying on her side, looking at him. Her eyes were puffy. She'd been crying and so had he and he thought it was crazy, the two of them, lying next to each other for silent, miserable hours. Tony would've thought them pathetic.

"I knew it was you," she said again. "I left him because he wants you."

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "No he doesn't," he said, and he was thankful that she used the present tense because he couldn't have handled it if she hadn't.

"Yes," she said, "he does."

And he was quiet then, because he knew it was true.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She laughed a little, mirthlessly. "Don't be sorry," she said. "I've never seen him so happy as when he was with you in the lab."

"And you?" Bruce glanced at her.

"Me." Pepper sniffled and wiped her eyes on the pillowcase. "I'm a lost cause, Bruce."

"If you think that's true, you really are crazy." He patted his shoulder. "Come here."

She scooted toward him, put her head on his shoulder, sighed when he wrapped his arm around her. "Maybe I'm just lost," she said.

He wrapped a strand of her hair around his fingers. "You're in good company."

"I hate this." A muffled sob. He felt tears drip onto his shirt.

"Me too."

On the fifth night, she took off her clothes and kissed him. He kissed her back and buried himself between her thighs as she pulled his hair and moaned and arched, and he didn't worry about the Other Guy, for once, because she was sad and sweet and inlaid with Tony. Afterwards she cried and apologized, and he held her and told her to never apologize for sex, and that made her laugh because it was something Tony would say.

It didn't happen again, but she's been sleeping with him every night, in pink pajamas like a college kid. At first he was nervous, having someone else so close, but Pepper is as comfortable as his own skin and it's nice, actually, feeling her warm against him.

"Do you ever worry you'll transform in your sleep?" she asks idly. They're lying in bed; she's watching a cooking show, he's reading Tony's notes on reconstructing the reticulum replicator.

He puts the tablet down. "I used to," he said. "It happened once, right after the accident."

"Oh." She reaches for the remote and turns the TV off. "Okay."

"Why?" he asks.

Shrug of her slender shoulders. "No reason," she says. She pulls the blankets up, nestles into them, closes her eyes. "Good night, Bruce."

He looks at her. "Good night."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bruce and Pepper sit up at the same moment.

He looks at her and she looks at him and then they're scrambling out of bed, not bothering with shoes, fighting for the doorknob. Running.

She almost trips on the stairs down to the MediLab and he catches her, one arm around her waist, without breaking stride. She regains her footing and the next second they're bursting through the door and -

"_Tony,"_ she breathes, and then she's on him and sobbing and laughing at the same time.

"Easy. Easy. I basically had to regrow all the bones in my body in the past two weeks. I'm delicate," Tony says, but his arms are around her and he's grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry." She takes a shuddery breath and pulls back. Puts her hands on either side of his face and looks at him.

"Miss Potts," he says after a moment, "you're making me uncomfortable."

She laughs and lets go. "I'm sorry."

He looks past her, sees Bruce, and his expression changes. Just a little.

"Bruce," he says.

Bruce can't move. His feet are rooted to the floor, his hands are motionless at his sides, and all he can do is stare at Tony. Tony, who he was sure was dead. Tony, who had asked him to come home.

"I - " he says, and his feet are moving of their own accord, carrying him toward Tony. Pepper steps back to let him through. But he gets there and the words die in his throat. Tony's eyes are dark and laughing and his skin is pink and Bruce can't believe it. Can't believe this is real.

Tony reaches up and knuckle-knocks Bruce lightly on the arm. "Hey. Sad panda. Hell of an adventure you pulled me into, here. You owe me a drink." He catches Bruce's hand and pulls him closer. "Or a joint, probably both. Please tell me you and McCoy aren't still a thing because I could go for a kiss hello."

But Hank's name makes Bruce remember the X-Men, and the reason Tony is here. "Jean," he says, pulling his hand out of Tony's.

"Not my name, I thought I was the one with the head injury." Tony points. "Over there."

She's coming out of the back room now, and she's smiling, and she doesn't look a bit worse for the wear.

"I guess you got my message," she says. "Hi."

And something bubbles up in Bruce then, something deep and bright and overwhelming, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. Because this woman, this remarkable woman, picked Tony up and swept him across the universe and brought him back from the dead, and it's the best gift Bruce has ever been given, and all she says, now, is _Hi._

"Oh God, don't get all sappy on me, please," Tony says from behind him. "We're at the happy ending part now, remember?"

"If you'll excuse me, anyway," Jean says, her gaze going from Bruce to Pepper, "I ought to find my husband." She puts her stethoscope in a drawer and arches an eyebrow at Tony. "You can get up whenever you feel up to it."

"Oh, I'm up to it." Tony bounces to his feet.

"Good night," she says, looking amused.

And then it's just the three of them, Tony and Bruce and Pepper, and there are so many things Bruce wants to tell Tony but he can't find the words.

"Let's get out of this room, I've had enough medical bullshit to last me a lifetime." Tony walks between them and toward the door. Bruce looks at Pepper and she shrugs, still smiling, and follows him.

"Tony," she says, on their way to Bruce's room, "what - "

"Happened?" Tony snorts. "I mostly have no idea. As you may recall, I took a little bit of a wailing back there on Genosha. Jean tells me my legs were pretty much kasploosh." He stops, holds one leg out, and gives it a little shake. "I can't say much for Shi'ar aesthetics, but I tell you what, their hospitals are just _outstanding._"

"So you're fine? You're healed?" She hovers at his elbow.

"Much as they could heal me."

Bruce glances back at them. "Your heart - "

"One thing they couldn't get." Tony taps his fingers against the arc reactor, which is, as always, glowing faintly under his T-shirt. "They tried to remove it, but apparently all my wiring went crazy when they got close." He bugs his eyes out and twitches his arms. "Zzzzt. So they left it in."

When they get to Bruce's room, Pepper stops at the door. "You know," she says, "I think I'll let you two have some time."

"You're leaving the party? Now?" Tony sticks out his lower lip. "Come on, Pepper, I just got home."

"And I fully intend to see you in the morning," Pepper says, "but you and Bruce have some catching up to do."

She cups Tony's face in her hands, kisses him lightly on the lips, and then hugs him hard. "I'm glad you're home," she says.

"Yeah. Me too."

Tony follows Bruce into the bedroom. He takes one look at the rumpled sheets, the dented pillows, at Pepper's sweatshirt tossed in the corner, and then: "Pepper been staying here?"

Bruce clears his throat, thinking of that fifth night. "Um. Yeah."

"Don't worry, it's cool." Tony drops onto the bed and grins at him. "You were sad about me, you missed me, she's _tres_ hot, I get it." He flops backward. "You never answered my question."

"Question?" Bruce is still standing at the foot of the bed, trying to process. Because Tony is so..._Tony_, and he hasn't yet been able to reconcile this Tony with the crushed, bleeding, nearly-dead one in his head.

"Keep up, Mike Wazowski." Tony stretches out and rolls onto his side. "You and Sulley still bangin, or what? Because I had some near-death revelations, and one of them is that I don't particularly feel like sharing you." He looks thoughtful. "Pepper doesn't count."

"I - " Bruce flaps his hands at his sides, helplessly. "Who's Mike Wazowski?"

"_Really?_ That's what you got out of that?" Tony sits up. "Maybe I need to be more clear, here, since you're being denser than fucking iridium." He points at Bruce. "You."

"Tony - "

Tony ignores him. Points with his other hand at the wall, in the general direction of the east wing. "McCoy."

"_Tony - _"

Tony brings his hands together and clunks his fingers against each other like fencing foils. "You _comprende?_"

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "I get it, Tony."

"So?" Tony's eyebrows are raised expectantly.

Bruce sighs. "No."

The fingers curl into fists, which shoot toward the ceiling. "_Yes._ Awesome. I was hoping that's what you'd say." The fists turn back into pointing fingers, aimed at Bruce's chest. "Come over here, big guy."

Bruce does, sitting down on the bed next to Tony.

As soon as he does, Tony grabs his head and kisses him.

"Whoa." He pulls back. It takes a lot of effort: Tony is holding on hard.

"Noooope." Tony kisses him again. "You're not weaseling away this time, Banner. Near-death revelations, remember? We have a lot of making out to catch up on, plus I want to check and make sure my junk still works, because a _lot_ of stuff went squish right around there, and I really can't think of a better way to establish functionality than by having you grab onto it for a while." Another kiss.

Bruce wants to stop him, because there is so much _- so much_ - he needs to say, but Tony's lips are warm and alive and he smells like hospital soap and outer space and suddenly Bruce doesn't want to say anything at all. So he kisses Tony back.

"That's more like it," Tony breathes against his mouth, and it feels good and real and _right. _

"I really - " Bruce pauses, closes his eyes, puts his hand in Tony's hair. "Missed you."

"Glad you're finally figuring that out," Tony says, and his words are glib but his tone isn't, and then Bruce tastes salt and opens his eyes and fuck, Tony Stark is crying.

"Tony - " he starts, and Tony interrupts.

"Don't," he says with his eyes closed. His voice is strained and unsteady. "Don't talk about it, don't point it out, I know what's happening and it is not a topic available for discussion, just keep kissing me, please."

Bruce doesn't need to be asked twice. He puts his mouth on Tony's, and when Tony's chest hitches, when his breath catches in his throat, Bruce kisses him harder. And then he pushes Tony onto his back, climbs on top of him, hands under his shirt and peeling it away, and he hears Tony's "Okay _yes_" as he arches into Bruce's hands. He kisses Tony's throat and shoulders and chest, dragging his tongue across Tony's stomach until Tony is scrabbling at his back with both hands and gasping "Fuck Bruce fuck _yes - _"

Bruce wants to make him forget.

He feels Tony's erection, hard and hot through the thin fabric of the weird alien pajama pants he's wearing, and when he pushes the heel of his hand against it Tony actually yells.

"Jesus, Banner - "

Bruce strokes him through his pants, slow and hard, and Tony is wild-eyed and hissing obscenities into his ear, his fingers digging painfully into Bruce's skin, his hips coming off the bed.

"_Fuck_." Tony bites Bruce's shoulder, then: "If you keep doing this, Bruce - _nnn, _yes _-_ I am actually going to die. I didn't die after they blew me up and dropped a building on me but - " He breaks off, yelps as Bruce squeezes his cock hard enough to hurt - "you are actually going to kill me."

Bruce swipes at Tony's nipple with his tongue. "Well." He pushes the pajama pants out of the way. "In the interest of your well-being, then..."

He repositions himself and hears "Bruce, I - " and then his mouth is on Tony's cock and Tony is letting out a long, loud groan.

"Bruce I swear on all that is holy if you stop now I will charge you for every cheesecake you ordered up to the lab." His fingers twist into the sheets. "Oh. Oh my God. Oh my _God_. Where did you learn how to do tha - Oh Jesusjesusjesus_fuck_ - " Tony rocks his hips upward.

Bruce reaches up, takes Tony's hand, places it on his head. Immediately Tony clenches his fingers, grabbing Bruce's hair. Then the other hand. Bruce breathes on the downstrokes and trembles and chokes on the ups, and Tony is jerking and gasping and groaning, and then he says "ohfuck_Bruce_" and his whole upper body curls toward Bruce as he comes.

He lets out a whoosh of breath as Bruce pulls away. "That was," he says, his voice shaking for a different reason altogether, now, "without a doubt, the most _spectacular_ welcome-home present I have ever received."

Bruce wipes his mouth on his sheets and moves up next to Tony. He's turned on and amped up but mostly he's so incredibly _happy._

Tony's got his eyes shut again, his face turned upward, his expression pure bliss. He wraps his arms around Bruce.

"I would," he says, motionless and practically glowing, "really appreciate it, Banner, if you would put your cock in my ass."

Bruce stops. "What?"

"Do I need to be more explicit?" He opens his eyes. "If you don't want to, I mean, it's totally cool, I'd suck you off any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays." Frown. "I think that's an underestimate."

Bruce feels himself start to quake, deep in his being. His night with Pepper was all about Pepper, and he never once let Hank make him come, and before that - well, before that was a long time ago.

"I can't," he says.

"What do you mean, you _can't_?" Tony says incredulously. "Of course you fucking can, just throw my legs over your shoulders and stick it in."

Bruce flinches, not at Tony's words, but at the carelessness they imply. As though he can just..._do_ it. Like anyone else. Like he doesn't have a huge green monster lurking over his shoulder.

"Bruce." Tony wriggles the rest of the way out of his pajama pants and rolls, naked, on top of him. "Please. You've gotta be kidding me with this. I've read your file. I've read all your triggers, and not once, _anywhere,_ does it mention that a good lay makes you Hulk out."

"I can't risk it." He looks away, which is difficult, because Tony Stark naked on top of him is a pretty magnificent sight.

"It's not a risk, I don't know why you call it that, it's a complete _non-issue." _Tony dips down and kisses him. Tongue probing, teeth scraping Bruce's lower lip, hands sliding up and down Bruce's torso until Bruce can't see straight.

And when Bruce tries to protest again, Tony just says "Too much talking" and wraps his lips around Bruce's cock. He slides up and down and it's slow - excruciatingly, exquisitely slow, until Bruce is sweating and gasping and clutching at Tony.

Tony pulls away. Just a little. Just enough that his lower lip brushes the head of Bruce's cock when he speaks.

"Is that a yes, then?" he says, and Bruce swallows hard. Nods.

Tony's grin is so wide it threatens to crack his face. "_Awesome_," he says.

It's awkward at first, two bodies trying to figure out how they fit together, tangle of knees and elbows. They don't have any lube so Tony licks him thoroughly first, but it doesn't last long and when Bruce feels the friction he tries to pull out. But Tony grunts "nuh-uh" and spits on his palm and smears it on Bruce's cock and pulls him closer. And when Bruce comes it's like he's the one streaking across galaxies, he's imploding from the inside out, he's rendering up his body to the burning fucking heart of God.

Tony groans when Bruce withdraws. "Shit. That was...wow."

Bruce pushes off the bed because he is suddenly dizzy, stricken with what they have just done, with what _he_ has just done.

"I'll be right back," he mumbles, and flees to the bathroom. He closes the door and locks it. Gets into the shower while it's still ice cold.

A moment later, and there's a knock on the door. "Bruce. Hey."

He doesn't answer. Can't. All those things he wanted to say to Tony, all the things he wants to say now - they've all knotted together in a mass in his chest and they're choking him to death.

_Click_ of the lock, and Tony is in the bathroom with him.

"I wouldn't've pegged you for a ding-dong-ditch kind of guy." Tony folds his arms and leans against the wall.

Bruce can barely look at him. "I'm sorry," he manages.

"Don't be sorry. You're always saying sorry." Tony slides the shower door open and steps in. "Holy _Christ _that's cold." He dials the water temperature up. "I feel you've missed the point of the cold shower."

"Tony." Bruce wraps his arms over his chest.

But Tony is grabbing his arms, opening them, stepping between them. "Don't fold up like that," he says, and he looks serious now. "Don't freak out and fold up, Bruce, it's just me, it's me and I _want to be with you,_ how do you not get that?"

"You..." Bruce stares.

_I want to be with you._

"Do you need me to spell it out? I can. I-W-A-N-T-T -"

"Stop." Bruce laughs a little. "Okay. I get it." He slides his hands down Tony's sides, letting them rest on his hips. "I don't know why."

"Don't play modest mouse, Banner," Tony snaps. "You have every redeeming quality in the book. You wrote the book. You are the author of redeeming qualities. You're smart and hot and awesome and I like you, okay?"

Bruce thinks about that for a moment. "Okay," he says.

"Good," Tony says, and leans forward and kisses him.

Bruce is just starting to sink into the kiss when Tony abruptly pulls back. "Hey," he says. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

Frown. "Two-way street, Banner. I'm not risking assumptions here."

"Tony." Bruce lets go of Tony's waist and turns off the water. "What are you talking about?"

Tony slides the shower door open and reaches for a towel. "I realize you're like the prom queen or the quarterback or whatever, God knows McCoy's been moping around like a giant robot stepped on his dog, but I - " He drapes the towel over his head and starts scrubbing at his hair. "I'm not used to expressing interest and not having it, er, reciprocated."

Bruce thinks about that for a second, then starts to laugh.

Tony pulls the towel off his head and glares. "Don't laugh."

Bruce can't help it: he laughs harder.

"I mean it, Banner." Tony gets out of the shower and wraps the towel around his waist. "I'm having _feelings_ here. I think you're missing the significance." He's started to sound sulky. "You're being an asshole."

"Takes one to know one." Bruce shakes his head, still chuckling, and follows Tony out of the shower. He pulls the towel off Tony's waist.

"Hey!" Tony grabs at it.

"It's my only towel," Bruce explains.

Tony stares at him. "This is a mansion," he says, deadpan.

Bruce shrugs. "I don't like to be wasteful." He finishes drying off, folds the towel in half, hangs it up.

Tony is staring at him as if he's crazy. "There are probably, like, twenty housekeepers in this place," he points out.

"Probably." Bruce walks into the bedroom and straightens the sheets, then climbs into bed.

"And also - wait a minute." Tony follows him and stands next to the bed, arms folded, and Bruce starts to laugh again because he looks so huffy and frustrated and naked and _cute._

"You're cute," he says, because he really, really missed Tony.

Tony throws his hands in the air. "That's it. I'm finished. I'm done. I can't take it any more." He spins and starts to gather his clothes.

Bruce hears Pepper's voice in his head: _You should tell him. When he comes back._

So he gets out of bed and comes up behind Tony. Puts both arms around him. Tony falls still, holding his T-shirt in one hand.

Bruce gently removes the T-shirt and drops it on the floor. "I'm sorry," he murmurs into Tony's ear, "that was mean."

"I hate you, Banner," Tony mutters.

Bruce catches Tony's earlobe between his teeth. "No you don't," he says.

Tony grunts. "I'm mad at you, though."

"Fair." Bruce lets go of Tony's earlobe and steers him toward the bed. Pushes him down and sits sideways next to him, one leg resting against Tony's back.

He rests his forehead against Tony's temple, trying not to smile at Tony's stormy expression. "It scares me," he confesses.

The frown lessens, just a little. Tony's eyes slide to the left, sneaking a glance at Bruce. "What does?"

"I do want to be with you." Bruce doesn't mean to say it; it just tumbles out. But suddenly there's a beaming grin on Tony's face, one he's clearly trying and failing to hide, and Bruce is glad, then, that he slipped up.

"So no more McCoy. For sure." Tony's eyebrows twitch upward.

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Again. No."

"Good. Just checking. I'm not good at sharing." Tony turns to face Bruce. "And on that note, then, you're okay with being with someone who does actually ask things of you." He narrows his eyes. "Right?"

"I think..." Bruce smiles. "It's probably good for me."

"Right fucking _on_, it's good for you." The spark is back in Tony's eyes, and his grin has turned downright wicked. "Glad we've established a baseline." He pushes Bruce flat on his back and kisses him firmly. "So you're in."

"Tony." Bruce reaches up and puts his hand on Tony's face. "Yes, okay? I'm in."

"Good." Tony kisses him again. "And you should know, Banner," he adds in a low growl, walking his fingers over Bruce's collarbone, "there's a lot I intend to ask."


	6. After All theDreamingI Come Home Again

It isn't that bad, actually.

The first time she saw Tony look at Bruce, Pepper's heart cracked in half. When she left Tony, it splintered. She spent three weeks picking up fragments, trying to solder them back together into some semblance of wholeness; and then Tony vanished, bleeding, into space, and the whole effort went to hell. He was gone and she was a wreck and she realized that, _yes_, in fact, she did need him. Not like she needed air, perhaps, or water; but like she needed sunlight, or music, or sex.

"Can I stay with you?" she'd whispered to Bruce that first night in the Mansion, because her hands were full of heart-pieces and there were so many more scattered at her feet.

He hadn't said yes or no, hadn't even nodded, just put his arm around her shoulders and walked her away from her room and up to his.

She crawled into bed with her clothes on, a black dress and some leggings Tony had said were ridiculous, and the bed shifted and creaked as he climbed up behind her and curled against her back. She felt him shaking and she reached up and crossed her hands over his forearm, tightly, where it pressed against her heart.

It confused her - and she isn't easily confused; no, Pepper Potts is as good with feelings as Tony is bad, she rarely has an emotional response for which she can't identify a trigger - that she attached herself so firmly to Bruce when Tony disappeared. Shouldn't she resent him, maybe even hate him, for taking Tony away?

But Tony loves Bruce and Pepper loves Tony, and she supposes her affection for Bruce is a result of simple transitive extrapolation. And maybe it was just that misery loves company, but it was so easy to be around him, so easy to let herself grieve when he was there to grieve with her.

"Do you want to be with him?" she asked, in the lab, six days after Genosha.

He looked up from his microscope. She was sitting on the workbench beside him, bare feet dangling near his waist, her tablet untouched beside her.

"With whom?" He didn't quite meet her eyes.

"_With whom_ do you think?" she snapped, because it drove her crazy when he was deliberately obtuse.

"I don't know," he said, after a moment, and put his eyes back on the scope.

"You should tell him." She paused. "When he comes back."

He didn't reply to that. But it made her feel better, somehow.

And now she can see how Tony is looking at Bruce and how Bruce is looking at Tony, and Tony has his hand on Bruce's shoulder, and the air between them is crackling like a bolt of Storm's lightning. So she leaves them at Bruce's bedroom door, and it isn't that bad, actually.

She goes to the kitchen, makes herself a cup of tea, sits at the counter in the dark with a box of Oreos. She should go back to the Tower tomorrow, because it'll be to business in the morning, knowing Tony.

She looks into herself and assesses the damage and finds, to her surprise, that it's less than she thought. She's sad but not crushed, weighted but not sinking, bruised but not broken. She still has Tony, and now, she thinks, she has Bruce, too.

She turns the mug in her hands. Yes. Back to the Tower. Back to work.

Tomorrow.

"Hi," says a voice.

She turns around. The figure is tall and backlit, silhouetted by the nightlight in the hall; but as he comes closer, she sees clear green eyes, tousled auburn hair, a shy smile.

"Can't sleep?" he says.

"Nope." She pushes the Oreos toward him. He takes one, twists it open, gives her the half with the cream.

"Thanks," she says.

"I'm Jamie." He holds out his hand.

"Pepper," she says, taking it.

"Nice to meet you, Pepper."

They sit in the dark together, not talking, and eat half the box of Oreos. When her tea is gone, she stands up.

"Going to try again?" Jamie looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

Impulsively, she kisses him on the cheek. Then, blushing: "Sorry."

His grin is bright in the moonlight. "Don't be sorry about a kiss, Pepper."

On her way back to her room, she thinks: _Well. Maybe not tomorrow._


End file.
